Colonel Caleb Bradbury, veteran of thirty years and uncounted battles, was having a very confusing day. He guessed that he had taken a wrong turn on the interstate, because now he was in some sort of idyllic countryside, and his preliminary scouting efforts had revealed a village home to some interestingly-dressed pygmies. Given that some of the houses appeared to be mostly underground, he did not entirely discard the notion that he had landed in Matamata, New Zealand, while the Fellowship Of the Ring was being filmed. Space-Time-and-The-Other tourism had taken him to stranger places, though the credibility of that particular place as the destination of this particular detour was somewhat lowered by the extreme realism of the area and the apparent lack of a camera crew. His only way to know would be to check if the buildings had interiors, and he wasn’t willing to risk detection.

Of course, Bradbury had not risen through the ranks of the Argentine army by losing his head in unfamiliar situations. So, while he was confused, he didn’t show it. Instead, he occupied himself with concealing his vehicle. A television detector van, let alone one fitted with a Hydramatic drive, would cause some awkward questions in what could be a medieval society. His attempt to hide it proved futile, however, as he had only the entrenching tool he had brought with him, and he was trying to hide a van. Instead, he unpacked his gear and made camp for the night. This consisted of hiding inside his overturned van and eating a protein bar. As both a soldier and a time tourist, he had gained the ability to sleep just about anywhere, so he quickly drifted off.

The next morning the Colonel awoke to someone knocking on the door above him. He looked up to see one of the locals, and he unlocked the door. The humanoid quickly opened the door and climbed from the door frame into the van, using the seats as handholds. Bradbury thought briefly, unsure how to speak to the locals, then said: “Hail and hello, kind sirrah. I bideth thee good tidings. Prithee, what bringest thou to mine cave of steel?” The creature pulled a notebook from one of his pockets, and began to write. Bradbury could hear him mutter:“Encountered extra-canonical humanoid… Seems to have caught sunstroke… In possession of high-value asset… Hydramatic drive... currently damaged.”

“I assure you,” said Colonel Bradbury, “I am in full possession of all my faculties, except the faculty of the department of engineering, who could probably help me. But I digress. Perhaps you, in the absence of the faculty, could furnish aid?”The man put away his notebook and looked at Bradbury as if he had just noticed him.“Yes… I think we can come to some sort of deal. How about I take this wreck off your hands and get you out of here?”“I accept this, but before we go, I have some questions. First: Where am I? Second: Why are you here? Third: How do we leave? And finally: Who are you?” asked Bradbury, never one to go into situations blindly.“Hobbiton; that’s classified; through a portal; and Allen I. Nirvana, department of Intelligence, PPC.”Bradbury considered this for a moment, then spoke: “Excellent. Let’s get out of here.”Nirvana started to remove an object from his waistband, paused, and asked Bradbury a very significant question:“Tell me, are you interested in a job?”

Rasputin Gibbs lay in wait. Flashgun at the ready, he scanned the horizon for the shape of his target. Ever since the accident, this had been his life: the glitter-monsters were an affront to reality, so he killed them. It was simple, so it brought him comfort, and a creature in his situation needed a routine. As the thing came into view, he readied his weapon and prepared to make the kill. Then a teenager walked up to the thing that should not exist, and began to talk to it, getting in the way of his shot.

Gibbs held back. He didn’t kill people. As he waited, the kid finished talking, the monster said something, and then the kid unsheathed a knife and stabbed it about six times, at which point it crumpled to the ground, bleeding sparkles. Gibbs went to compliment him on his work, but as Gibbs approached, the kid turned and spoke to him: “Rasputin Gibbs, you have been charged with making a nuisance and vigilante Sue killing. You are sentenced to conscription into the PPC. Look this way, please.”Gibbs started to speak:“Wait, wh-”

This is based on the control prompt "One agent tries to convince another to help with some kind of business venture." As bases of operations went, Response Center 9-unreadable-smudge wasn’t among the ... more

Rasputin Gibbs would have felt a lot better about life if he had known where he was, but the featureless corridors of the PPC headquarters seemed intent on getting him lost. On the plus side, Colonel ... more